


Gotham Post-Grad

by SpadesHigh



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Ace/Aro Crane, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Humor, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Feels, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpadesHigh/pseuds/SpadesHigh
Summary: You ever notice that a significant portion of Batman’s Rogues Gallery actually have doctorates.  Like, how did these idiots ever graduate college?  Well, that gave me an idea.  So, now, I present, Harley and Crane, post-grad roommates at Gotham University.  Includes Harley x Ivy fluff, Crane having exactly zero percent interest in his own love life, angsty backstories, and also friendship, because, seriously, Crane needs friends.





	1. Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is pretty short, but it gets the job done, so whatever.

“The Wayne Foundation, in order to promote higher education, is proud to provide low-cost, off-campus housing for post-graduate students at Gotham University.”

The building manager looked about as bored as Crane felt, giving a speech he had no doubt given many times in the past days, as students moved into the apartments.  Crane felt sympathy for the man, but mostly tuned out the speech, preferring to examine his surroundings as they walked.

The apartment complex was honestly not bad.  After all, it had only been around for a year, and had been built by the Wayne Foundation, who, unlike many non-profit organizations, actually avoided cutting corners to line their own pockets.  Crane would rather be living on his own, given the choice, but it’s amazing what being disowned will do to your savings account.  After having successfully petitioned for emancipation in high school, Jonathan Crane had been getting by on part-time jobs and scholarships, so this housing program was honestly very advantageous.  Realizing that his introspection had caused him to lag behind, Crane hurried to catch up to the building manager, who had just arrived at Crane’s room.

Crane had been informed of the name and contact details of his future roommate, but had not contacted them except for a few texts about who should bring what.  He knew that his roommate was also a psychology student, and had graduated magna cum laude last year.  Crane had gotten summa; not that he was keeping track or anything.  So, whatever he was imagining when he walked through the door, it certainly was not a young, blonde woman with pig-tails and minimal clothing twirling around on what would be colloquially known as a stripper pole.

Said blonde grinned widely from the top of her pole, gripping with her legs so that she could gesture widely at their surroundings.  “So,” she said, her accent distinctly Northeastern, “whaddaya think.”

Crane raised an eyebrow, examining the woman before him.  His response, went it came, was flat and dry.  “You do gymnastics.”

The girl frowned slightly, then grinned again.  “Boring,” she said, clearly expecting a more exciting reaction, “but also correct.”  She slid down the pole, popping a stick of gum in her mouth before reaching out a hand to Crane.  “Name’s Harleen Quinzel, but everybody just calls me Harley.”

Crane hesitated, more a conditioned response than an aversion to this particular situation, then clasped Harley’s hand in his own.  “Jonathan Crane.  But, there are enough Jonathans in this world, so call me Crane.”

“Well, Mistah Crane, looks like we’re gonna be livin’ togethah.”

Crane noticed that the gum actually emphasized her accent, and smirked.  “So it would seem.”


	2. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley makes three new discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s green, annoys bats, and is far too fond of bowler hats?

Monday was a pretty average day, in Harley’s opinion.  It was exactly what you’d expect out of the first day of the new semester, no different from her previous four years at the academy.  Tuesday, however, Tuesday was interesting.  On Tuesday, Harley made a series of interesting discoveries. 

* * *

Harley’s first discovery was that, in spite of Crane’s lanky frame and nerdy appearance, he was apparently rather athletic.  Harley woke up early, planning to get a little exercise in before classes, only to find her pole already in use.  Crane was hanging from the pole by his legs, doing decline sit-ups.  Harley grinned at the unexpected sight, skipping over to stand next to her oblivious roommate.

“Likin’ that pole, are ya?” she asked cheerily. Crane, startled from his reverie, nearly let go of the pole before catching himself.  Glaring at his roommate, he braced his hands on the floor and proceeded to twist into a handstand, then brought his legs back down on the other side before standing up, all while looking thoroughly unamused.

“As a matter of fact,” he replied, “I do find it quite useful.”

Harley laughed at his dead-pan response, grinning even wider.  “So, you a gymnast too?”

Crane shook his head.  “Kung fu, actually.”

Harley nodded, accepting this explanation.  Then, as her limited knowledge of martial arts highlighted a particularly amusing possibility, she grinned wickedly.  “You wouldn’t happen to do that Crane style, would you?”

Crane froze, an almost guilty expression on his face.  “I might.”

Harley was silent for a moment, then burst into a fit of cackling laughter.  “Didja-” she wheezed out eventually, “-didja actually pick a form of martial arts just because you share a name?”

“No,” _yes._ “The crane style is simply well-suited to my particular body type.”  Any indignation he managed to muster was severely undermined by the redness of his face.

“And what body type is that, exactly?  Scarecrow?”

Crane’s lips twitched upwards into a smirk as he loomed over Harley.  “Is that what I look like to you,” he asked, his eyes cold and calculating, “a scarecrow.”

Harley shrunk back, “Um...I...no, um...”

Crane reached out a hand, inching ever closer, and...flicked Harley in the forehead.  “Lighten up, Harley,” he said, smiling.  “You’re not the only one capable of teasing.”  He turned around, walking over to the small kitchen nook of their apartment.

Harley frowned, clearly less than amused.  As she watched him walk away, a thought occurred to her.  “You’re not really dressed for a workout, ya know.”

Crane looked down, examining his own clothing.  Harley wasn’t wrong.  Crane was wearing a dark, button-down shirt and a pair of black slacks, not exactly ideal workout gear.  He shrugged, plucking at one of his cuffs nervously.  “You’re not wrong,” he replied, not turning around.

Harley cocked her head, eyebrows raised.  She could tell there was more to the story, but Crane’s body language made it clear that this was a topic he didn’t wish to talk about, especially considering they had only known each other for a few days.  Dropping the subject, she calmly began stretching, intent on making up for lost time before her classes started for the day.

* * *

The second thing Harley discovered that day was that riddles are best enjoyed in moderation.

Harley only had two classes on Tuesdays, and it was her second class of the day that is of interest to this story.  The class, Behavioral Profiling in Criminology, was the one that she was looking forward to the most in the entire semester.  The reason for this, other than the fact that it was one of her discipline specific classes, was that it was being taught by the head of the psychology department, who was well known around the world for his work in the field of criminal psychology, as well as several other disciplines.  She hurried to class, bouncing with excitement.

It was a small class, unsurprisingly, and there were many available seats when Harley arrived.  As she looked around the room though, her eyes stuck on one particular individual in the front row, and she could not help but let out a small giggle at the oddity of his attire.  For, you see, this young man, for some, unfathomable reason, was wearing a three piece suit.  Now, a suit, in and of itself, is not that unusual.  After all, sometimes people just enjoy dressing up.  But this suit, this suit was green.  And when I say green, we’re not talking forest green, or olive green, or some other reasonable shade of clothing.  We’re talking shamrock green, lantern green, green like you could overlay special effects on it.

Strangely, though, the man made it work.  Maybe it was how comfortable he looked, as if it never occurred to him that this suit might be anything less than god’s gift to fashion.  And Harley knew that anyone who could look that natural in a suit like that had to be worth knowing, so she skipped down the aisle and sat down beside him, spinning her chair so that she sat with her chest resting on the back.  Reaching out a hand she gave him her signature grin.

“Harleen Quinzel, nice ta meetcha!”

The green suited man looked over in surprise, before nodding stiffly.  He accepted the proffered handshake, and Harley noticed that he wore matching, green silk gloves.  “A pleasure, Miss Quinzel.  My name is Nygma.  Edward Nygma.”  He seemed to hesitate, as if unsure of himself, before apparently coming to a decision and asking a question.  “Mary’s father has 5 daughters; Nana, Nene, Nini, and Nono. What is the fifth daughter’s name?”

Harley raised an eyebrow, but, nonetheless, considered his riddle.  After a moment she came up with the answer.  “It’s Mary, right?”

Nygma’s eyes lit up.  “Correct.”  He opened his mouth, almost certainly to ask another riddle, when the door to the classroom opened to admit their professor.  Nygma immediately closed his mouth and turned to face the front.

Harley would come to learn many things about Dr. Hugo Strange, Dean of Psychology, over the years she spent at Gotham University, but one thing was abundantly, inescapably clear from the very first day they met.  And that was that the man both looked and sounded like the poster child for Nazi scientists.  He had a very large head, hairless but for a thick, jawline beard.  He wore a pair of oversized-circular glasses, with polarized frames making it impossible to see his eyes.  His voice, colored by a pronounced German accent, was quiet but firm, slithering through your brain.  He spent most of the class on lecture, but allowed the last ten minutes for the students to get to know each other.

Harley and Ed took this chance to ask the necessary, if repetitive, introductory questions of each other.  Ed was apparently studying criminology and forensics, and, as Harley was rapidly coming to understand, was very, very fond of puzzles, especially riddles.  Now, Ed was a nice, if quirky, guy, and they got along well enough, but there’s only so many riddles a girl can take in one sitting, so when the class ended and the end seemed nowhere in sight, even as the two walked back to the apartments, where Ed was also staying, Harley decided that it was time for a stealthy exit worthy of all her expertise.  And by that, she meant that as soon as he looked away, she ducked into the nearest building and looked for a place to hide.

And just what building was it that she ducked into, you may ask.  Why, the campus botanical garden, of course.  And so, Harley ducked behind a table containing many rare and probably expensive flowers that she didn’t know the names of, hoping that Nygma wouldn’t notice that she was gone until it was too late.

She was still in this position when she heard a low, sultry voice behind her.  “What, exactly, are you doing in my garden?”

Harley spun around, clever reply about it being a public garden dying on her lips as she found a pair of emerald green eyes staring back at her.  Instead she blushed, opening and closing her mouth soundlessly, reminiscent of a fish, before swallowing and finally replying. “Hiding from a guy who wants to tell me riddles.”

The owner of the voice and the eyes raised a dark red eyebrow, full, crimson lips quirking up in an amused smile.  “Don’t tell me, Nygma?”

Harley nodded, not trusting her voice to not blurt out that she thought it would be very enjoyable to kiss those lips.

The other woman chuckled.  “Oh, Eddy. I told him he’d never get the girls to like him if he kept spouting riddles all the time.”

Harley grinned at the other woman, some of her usual confidence restored.  “And you’d know a lot about that, would ya?  Gettin’ the girls?”

The other woman smiled in a distinctly predatory manner, hands suddenly braced against the table on either side of Harley.  “I know enough.”

The slightly taller woman’s dark red hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her face, and Harley idly thought that it was probably the prettiest hair that she’d ever seen.  “So, Red,” she said, laughing nervously, wondering where all that confidence had run off to, again.  “You this aggressive with all the girls that come by?”

The red-head leaned forward, whispering in Harley’s ear.  “Only the beautiful ones.”  And just like that she was gone, walking away down the rows of plants, leaving Harley rooted to the spot.  “Eddy should be gone by now, little flower," she called over her shoulder, "so I suggest you run along.”

Harley nodded, wordlessly walking to the door.

“Oh, and by the way” she called out just as Harley reached the door.  “Do come by again sometime.”

* * *

The third and most important thing Harley discovered that day, as she walked back to the dorm, blushing so furiously that even her ears felt warm, was that red was definitely her new favorite color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote an entire version of this where Ivy was all shy and repressed, like she was before she got her powers, and then I was like, "You know what would be even better than that? If she was super aggressive and really, really, really gay." And so it was.
> 
> Batman and all associated properties belong solely to DC Comics


	3. TGIFries-day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend’s finally here, so let’s all go "chill" at the Frieses’ house. It’ll be a really "cool" time. Won’t it be "ice" to meet some new people?
> 
> You can’t stop the pun train. No one can stop the pun train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda long, relatively, but it needed to be. Also, I actually had to create that Victor/Nora tag, which kinda surprised me.

It was Friday night, the first weekend of the semester, and Crane was thoroughly looking forward to it.  He had just opened his newest Lovecraftian horror book, his Mozart playlist queued up on his phone, ready for a nice, relaxing evening all to himse-

“Crane, get ya shit togethah, ‘cause we ah goin’ out.”

Or not.  Crane briefly considered explaining that parties weren’t really his thing, that he wasn’t really a “people person,” as it were, but he was self-aware enough, and Harley-aware enough, to know that the likelihood of that argument actually getting him anywhere was practically zero.  So, instead, he simply closed his book, turned off his music, and strolled over to his closet. 

Opening the door, he considered his options.  There was his gray button-down shirt, or his slate button-down shirt, or his charcoal button-down shirt, or, if he was really feeling adventurous, his graphite button-down shirt.  Crane had neither the fashion-sense, nor the fucks to give, required for creating a complex wardrobe, so, instead, he simply had many, many iterations of gray shirt and black pants.

Once he was dressed, he stepped out into the main room.  From the bathroom he could hear the sounds of bright, peppy music and horribly off-key singing.  He chuckled, acknowledging his roommate’s enthusiasm, if not her skill.

“So,” he called out, he called out, pacing the room, “where exactly is this party of yours?”

Harley popped her head out of the bathroom, apparently in the middle of putting on makeup.  “Friend a mine an her hubby got a place down the road a bit.  They thought it’d be nice ta have a little start a the year party.”

Crane paused to nod, then returned to his pacing.  Eventually, though, Harley emerged, all dolled up, as she might say. She wore a red and black dress, the affect somewhat marred by her converse shoes.  She noticed Crane’s stare and shrugged, saying “It’s nice ta look nice, but I ain’t gonna go around all night with blisters on my feet just ‘cause ladies is supposed ta wear heels.

Crane shrugged, feeling that it was a fair rationale, then pulled open the main door, motioning for Harley to lead the way.  And lad she did, skipping along merrily, stopping every few yards to allow Crane, who was strolling along leisurely, to catch up.

* * *

It was a short walk, no more than three minutes, to reach the house where the party was being held.  A blonde woman was standing outside, greeting the guests.  Harley introduced her as Nora, the friend she had mentioned, and stopped to chat with her.  Not wanting to loiter, he shuffled inside awkwardly.  He was pleased to see that the party was significantly less rambunctious than he would have guessed.  Perhaps everyone got tired of excess after under-grad.  He shrugged, figuring that it was something to think about later, and set about finding a nice, secluded corner to people watch.

Unfortunately, when he eventually did find such a corner, it happened to be right near the sound system.  While the home-owners’ taste in music wasn’t terrible, the proximity to the speakers meant that the volume was rather higher than he cared for.  Nonetheless, he leaned back, letting himself get lost in the shadows, peering out over the assembled sea of humanity.

The current song ended, and Crane enjoyed the brief lull in noise.  When the sound picked up again, it was fast paced and thumping, obviously meant for dancing.  Or, whatever passed for dancing in this day and age.  It had a heavy base, and his entire body vibrated with the beat.  _His body slammed against the steel door, the reverberations from the impact causing his whole body to vibrate.  He could feel the bruises that covered his shoulders and arms, even if he couldn’t see them.  Blood dripped from several surface abrasions.  The makeshift binding around his chest was really cutting into his lung capacity, but at least it stemmed the major bleeding.  He dropped to his knees, head resting against the unyielding door.  How long?  How long had he been here?  Did anyone know where he was?  Did anyone care?_

“-ne?  Crane.  CRANE!”  Crane jerked his head up, the world slamming back into focus.  The first thing he noticed were concerned, ice colored eyes staring into his.  The second, was the conspicuous lack of music.  Refocusing on what was at hand, he examined the face before him.  Pale skinned, and vaguely Germanic, with white hair and ice-blue eyes.

“Victor?” he whispered, his voice shaky.

The man nodded, a relieved look on his face.  “You’re the last person I expected to see,” he said, eyes shining with jovial amusement.  “You never used to go places, or do things.”

Crane chuckled.  “You say that, but I seem to remember you staying home most nights, too.”

Victor grinned.  “Oh, but this _is_ my home.”

Crane looked confused, muttering to himself, “This is your place.  Then this is your party.  And Harley said this was put on by her friend, and said friend’s husband, and that means...” he turned to address Victor, “You’re married?”

Victor nodded happily.  “Victor and Nora Fries, been married for about two months, now.”

Crane put on a face of mock indignation.  “And you didn’t invite me to the wedding?”

Victor laughed.  “Hey, I wanted to.  But Nora was going to try to play match maker with you and one of her bridesmaids.”

A look of vague horror crossed Crane’s face.  “Probably best you didn’t, then.”

Victor just laughed even louder, clapping Crane on the shoulder.  It was then that Harley and Nora walked up, looking bemused.  After a polite greeting between Harley and Victor, the Frieses departed to go talk to their other guests.  The sound of music began to fill the house again, and Crane noticed that this song was significantly less bass heavy.  He smiled.  Victor was a good friend.

“I didn’t know ya knew Vicky.” Harley piped up beside him.

“You never asked,” he replied.  “Also, Vicky?”

Harley smiled.  “He hates that nickname, so I use it every chance I get.”

Crane rolled his eyes, patting the top of her head.  “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

Harley opened mouth to reply, only to freeze in place, mouth still agape.  Following her gaze, Crane saw a red-haired woman in a long, forest green dress, strutting confidently through the crowd.  The material parted below the knees, revealing a pair of green heels with vine-like laces running up the calves.

Crane felt an intense pressure on his forearm, and looked down to see Harley gripping tightly to his arm.  Without looking away from the red-head, Harley whispered conspiratorially.  “I take back everythin’ I evah said about heels.”

Crane huffed with laughter.  He smirked wickedly, and stealthily disentangled himself from her grip.  From there, it was a simple shove to the back and suddenly Harley was stumbling forward, caught by gentle arms, head landing on something soft and warm.  Harley froze, attempting to take stock of the situation.

“Find something you like?” asked a sultry voice in her ear.  Harley snapped up, jumping back as she realized that the soft, warm thing that her head had landed on was, in fact, the red-head’s chest.

“No!  Wait... Yes?  I mean, I didn’t not like it, and maybe I kinda enjoy it...but, like, not in a creepy way, and I didn’t mean anything by it, and...” Harley trailed off, blushing furiously.  And then the red-head laughed. Laughed deeply and fully.  And there was something of the rustling of leaves in her laugh, and Harley thought that if it meant hearing that laugh, then she really wouldn’t mind playing the fool. She did, however, throw a glare over her shoulder, only to find that Crane had vanished into the crowd.  She looked forward again, only to find that the other girl had come closer to her again, which made two things abundantly clear.  First, though the red-head was actually only about an inch taller than Harley, the heels made that gap much wider.  And the second was that she kind of liked it.

“I must say,” the red-head said to her, looking at the rest of the party-goers, “I’m feeling a bit overdressed.”

“Nah, Red,” Harley hastily assured her.  “Ya look good.  Like, really good.  Like, wow.”

“Well, Blondie, you don’t look too bad yourself.”

Harley blushed at the compliment, but then her face lit up as she remembered something.  “Hey, Red, can I ask ya for a favah?”

The other girl raised an eyebrow, intrigued.  “And what favor would that be?”

Harley looked around, giggling nervously, before whispering in her ear.

The red-head’s eyes widened.  “Really?  Right now?”

Harley nodded resolutely.

“Well, let it never be said that I turned down a lady in need.

* * *

Harley skipped into the bathroom, the red-head trailing behind her, closing the door behind them.

“I gotta say, Blondie, you’re more bold than I gave you credit for.”

Harley grinned.  “Oh, trust me, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“Well, then, perhaps it’s time you put your money where your mouth is.  Or your mouth where my mouth is, whichever comes first.”

Harley giggled, reached into her bag...and pulled out two bottles of hair dye.  “Ta-da!”  She exclaimed, making vigorous jazz hands.

“So,” the red-head asked as she examined the bottles, “what made ya want to dye your hair?”

Harley scratched her forearm nervously before replying, “You did, actually.”

The red-head raised an eyebrow.  “Is that so?”

Harley nodded.  “When I met you in the garden, all I could think about was how pretty your hair was.  And then I got ta thinkin’ about how I wasn’t really happy with my hair.  So then I went and got these.  And I didn’t really wanna do it myself, but it didn’t really seem like something Crane would be interested in helping me with.  So, then I thought I could ask Nora, but she was busy doing the whole host thing.  But then I saw you, and I thought maybe you’d be willing to help me, so I asked, and you said yes, and that brings us back to now.”

The red-head smiled.  “Well, I am happy to help.  But, you know, I can’t exactly just keep calling you Blondie, so maybe you could tell me your name.”

It wasn’t until she said this that it occurred to Harley that they had never actually been properly introduced.  Perpetual grin still firmly in place, she stretched out a hand.  “Harleen Quinzel, at your service.”

“Pamela Isley,” was the response, Isley gently taking her hand, and in an unexpected move, lightly kissing her knuckles.  “And know that no matter what your hair color, you are absolutely beautiful.”

* * *

A few hours later, most of the party-goers had left, and those that remained were engaged in a very inappropriate card game.  Crane was doing quite well, having quickly adapted to all the other players’ individual senses of humor.  The worst player was Nygma, who always tried too hard to be clever.  They all heard the creak of the stairs, and looked up to see Harley coming down.  Her hair was two different colors, split down the middle.  The left side was midnight black, and the right side candy red.  She hopped over the banister, landing next to the card table. 

“Well, whaddya think?” she asked, striking a pose.  And though her voice didn’t waver, Crane could sense a flicker of anxiety in her eyes.

Everyone was quick to tell her it looked good, and all the other generic compliments you give, because no one is going to tell you your hair looks bad.  Everyone, that is, except Crane.  Harley looked at him expectantly, and Crane looked back.  Crane didn’t give false compliments.  Crane didn’t appease.  Crane was honest, no matter how brutal.  And finally, when all the other voices had quieted, Crane nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably an unpopular opinion, but I actually much prefer the red and black hair. I think it suited her better, thematically.  
> Also, looking back, Harley introduces herself to someone in every one of these chapters so far, while Crane has only given out his name once. Not really important, but I thought it was kinda funny.
> 
> Batman and all associated properties are owned by DC Comics. I continue to claim nothing.


	4. What are the Odds?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance reunion reveals more of Crane's past, both good and bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why can't two-face ever come to a decision? Because he's always of two minds.  
> Why is two-face a terrible date? Because when the bill comes, he splits.
> 
> The pun train continues, and I do not apologize.

A few weeks after the start of the semester, Harley was, as usual, skipping across the green.  There was a nice cafe that she and Crane liked to visit, (she liked to visit, Crane went because she dragged him along,) and they were scheduled to meet there for lunch.  Speaking of dragging people, she was currently doing just that to one of her newly acquired friends, insisting that he would get along famously with her roommate.  Popping her head inside the cafe, she saw Crane, who waved lazily.  Grinning she turned back to her new friend.

“He’s here,” she said, beckoning, “come on.”  The bemused man shook his head in an exasperated manner, the right side of his face quirking into a smile, though the left side did not react.  Harley had noticed that his left side rarely reacted to anything, and had wondered if there was some sort of paralysis thing going on there.  She didn’t ask, though, figuring that if he wished to tell her, then he would.  Putting the thought aside, she led the way into the cafe, headed toward Crane.  She saw that Crane’s gaze shifted towards the man behind her, eyes widening slightly, so she went to make introductions.  “Heya, Crane.  This here’s-”

“Harvey,” Crane interrupted, and Harley was taken aback, not so much that he knew who the other man was, as that his voice actually expressed an emotion that wasn’t dry wit.

“Crane,” Harvey replied, and as Harley looked over, she noticed that, for the first time since she had met him, both sides of his face were smiling.  And then, as if her mind had not been blow enough in the past minute, Crane stood up and actually hugged Harvey.  Harley flopped down in her chair, absently staring back and forth between the two as they sat down, smiling.

When she eventually recovered from the shock, she tuned back into the conversation.

“I thought you were staying at home for school?” Crane questioned.

Harvey nodded.  “I was, but GU has a really good law school, so I couldn’t resist.”

Crane laughed.  “That sounds like you.”

Harley took this chance to interrupt.  “You two seem close.”

Harvey turned to look at her.  “Yeah, we went to high school together.”  He played with something in his hand, nervously, glancing over at Crane to ask a silent question, who tilted his head in assent.  “We...uh...we actually used to date.”

Harley’s face crinkled in confusion.  “I always took ya for more of a ladies’ man, Harv, what with ya always making googly eyes at that Gilda dame.”

Harvey chuckled.  “Well,” he said, leaning back into the leather of their booth, “you could say that I’m of two minds on the subject.”

Harley nodded, waiting for them to continue the story.  But neither of them did, choosing instead to simply sit in comfortable silence.  Eventually, Harley couldn’t take it anymore, bursting out with an emphatic, “Well?”

Crane raised an eyebrow.  “Well, what?”

“What happened?” Harley prompted, waving her hands wildly.

“Oh, that.  Well, I didn’t like girls, and I’d never really thought about going out with a guy until Harvey asked, but I wasn’t opposed to the idea, so I said yes.  So we went out a few times, and it was fun, but, as it turns out, I wasn’t into guys, either, so we called it quits.”

“But you stayed friends, huh?”

Harvey shrugged.  “We never got to a point where it was serious enough to break my heart.”

Harley nodded.  “That’s good.  Messy break-ups are always hard.”  She noticed that Crane’s eyes were wandering, and turned to see what he was looking at.  And there, in all her red-headed glory, was Pamela Isley.

Harvey, wondering what everyone was looking at, turned to see Isley peering in their direction.  Turning back, he saw that Harley was now crouching on the bench, trying to surreptitiously peek over the back of the seat, as if her two-tone hair wasn’t recognizable from a mile away.  He looked over at Crane, raising an eyebrow.  Crane nodded, pointing at said hair before waving in the direction of Isley.  At this, Harvey grinned, and Crane did not fail to notice that this time it was solely the _left_ side of face that smiled.

“Hey, Harley,” he called, drawing her attention back to him.  “Wanna make a bet?”

Harley’s eyes sparkled with intrigue at the word bet.  “What kinda bet we talkin’?”

Harvey chuckled, and it rang just a bit sinister.  He held out the object he had been fidgeting with earlier, a silver dollar.  “Heads, you go talk to that pretty red-head you can’t stop making eyes at, tails, I tell you Crane’s most embarrassing secret.”

Harley hesitated for only a moment, the prospect of dirt on her roommate erasing any concerns she might have had.  Harvey flipped the coin and it landed on heads.  Harley pouted at her loss, but as she went to go talk to Isley, her grin turned even more vibrant than it was before.

Crane let out a small laugh, once Harley was out of ear shot.  “You still carrying that trick coin of yours?”

Harvey smiled back at him, left side delighted.  He rolled the two-headed coin between his fingers.  He looked back at the two chatting girls, and his expression turned more somber.  “Have you told her about...?”

Crane shook his head.  _Crane carefully unwrapped the bandages around his chest, looking around at the still foreign room.  His room, now, though it felt weird to think of it that way.  He looked in the mirror, making sure his injuries were healing properly.  Then he looked up, and saw the reflection of Harvey standing in the doorway, tears in his eyes as he read the word carved into Crane’s chest.  And suddenly Crane was crying, too, and he felt Harvey’s arms wrap around him, and they had only broken up a couple weeks ago, and things were awkward, and Crane was generally against the whole touching thing, and it kind of hurt because the cuts were still healing, but goddammit he needed a hug right now so he just let it happen._

Crane felt Harvey’s hand closing around his, and looked up into his eyes.  “You should come home sometime.”  Crane opened his mouth to protest, but Harvey preempted him.  “I know you don’t like going back there, but I’m sure my parents would love to see you again.”  And Crane couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the Dents, who had accepted him so warmly.  It was Mr. Dent, in fact, who helped Crane with the matter of emancipation.

He placed his free hand on top of their joined ones, looking at the other man with a sincere smile.  “I’ll think about it, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: Did I make Harvey bi purely for the puns?  
> Answer: Yes, yes I did.  
> But, on further review, it actually makes sense, given his halves inability to agree on almost anything, that this could be something for them to argue about.
> 
> Batman and all associated properties belong to DC Comics. I am not them, thus, I own nothing.


	5. It's a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pam asks a question, fluff ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now know what a halter-top is, so progress. Also, I really like the red skin for Ivy in Injustice, so I kinda went off that.

Harley is following Pamela around the botanical gardens, as has become their custom.  Pamela has work to do, tending to the garden, and as much as she enjoys being alone with her lovelies, she enjoys the shorter girl’s company more.  Harley is smiling, always smiling, and she leans down to smell one of the flowers.  So engrossed is she that she doesn’t catch the question that is asked of her.

“What was that, Red?” she asks, looking up.

“I asked...” Pamela said, and Harley was surprised, because the ever confident Pamela Isley actually looked nervous, “I asked, ‘Why haven’t you asked me out?’”

Harley was stunned by the question, seemingly out of nowhere.  “Whaddya mean, Pammy?”

Pam nervously stirred the soil of one of the planters.  “It’s just...I’ve been flirting with you pretty heavily since the day we met, and I was pretty sure you were flirting back, but I didn’t want to put any pressure on you, because some girls just like to flirt, and they don’t really mean anything by it, but I really like you so I was hoping you felt the same, but you still haven’t asked me out, so then I got nervous, and-” she abruptly stopped, looking down to see Harley’s fingers entwined with her own.  And then she looked up, and Harley was looking back at her, expression serious, which was weird to see on Harley’s ever grinning face.

“Red?”

“Yeah?”

“Go out with me.”

“Okay.”

And suddenly, the tension broke, anxiety slipping away, and Harley was grinning, and Pamela was smiling, and they were just two stupidly happy nerds in a garden of flowers.

Crane was reviewing one of his textbooks when Harley burst into the apartment, panic in her eyes.  He raised an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable outburst.

* * *

“I’ve got a date,” Harley exclaimed.

Well, that was not what he was expecting.  “Congratulations?”

Harley groaned.  “No, not congratulations.  I have a _date_...and nothing to wear.”

Crane recalled the overwhelming multitude of outfits that his roommate owned and pressed x to doubt.  “Harley, you have more outfits than a chameleon has colors.  I’m sure you have something date-worthy.”

Harley glared at him, not appreciating his lax attitude, and stalked over to her closet.  Pulling out the first outfit, she held it up, shaking it angrily in Crane’s direction. “Nope.”  She pulled out another.  “Nope.”  And another.  “Nope.”  And another.

When at last her closet was empty, and Harley sat on the floor, surrounded by piles of clothing, Crane decided to take pity on the over-wrought girl.  He moved into his own room, heading for his closet.  “Nora brought this by last week.  Told me to stash it away for a special occasion, and I’d say this counts.”  Returning to the living room, he held out a pile of clothes.  On top was a red and black camisole, colors split down the middle, opposite of her hair.  Below that was a black leather jacket, the whole left side covered in red, diamond shaped patches.  The last piece was a red skirt, with a black diamond pattern over the right side.

Harley snapped up, grabbing the clothes.  “You had this the whole time?”

Crane smirked.  “Pretty much.”

Harley glared back.  “Then why didn’t you say anything.”

“Your panic amused me.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

* * *

Harley was buzzing with excitement.  She looked around the restaurant.  _Was this too fancy?  Not fancy enough?  Should she have gotten something for Pam?  Like a present or something?  That was, like, a thing that people did on first dates, right?  Oh, god, was that something she was supposed to have done?  Oh, shit, she’d totally messed up, hadn’t she?_

She was spiraling, and she didn’t even notice Pamela approaching until she felt the hand on her cheek.  And as Harley turned, she felt her heart stop, because if Pamela Isley was always beautiful, then right now she was the very incarnation of beauty itself.  Her hair was done in loose curls, framing her face exquisitely, and she wore a pink lily amongst the crimson locks.  And her dress, oh her dress.  It was in the halter top style, suspended from her neck by a golden vine, and flowed down to her knees, appearing to be made from autumn leaves.  And as much as Harley liked her in green, red was definitely her color.  She was wearing heels again, a golden version of the ones she had worn to the party, and Harley was only too happy to have to look up into those beautiful, emerald eyes.

Pamela smiled, her hand moving from Harley’s cheek to touch her hair.  “It’s rare that I get to see you with your hair down,” she says gently, sensing Harley’s anxiety.

Harley frowns a little from the loss of contact as they sit, only to smile as Pam reaches under the table to take her hand.  Harley was a very touchy-feely kind of person, unlike most of her friends, so it was nice to have someone else initiate contact for a change.  She rubbed the back of Pam’s hand, and smiled at her.

There must have been a hint of strain in Harley’s smile, though, because Pamela’s face grows worried.  “Are you okay, Harley?”

“I am, I am,” she hurriedly assures Pamela, before looking away abashedly.  “I’m just worried about messing this up, ya know?”

Pamela smiles at her, squeezing her hand reassuringly.  “Hey, you don’t have to worry about messing up.  I already like you, you know.”

Harley looked back at her, more relaxed now.  “Well, you did kind of coerce me into asking you out, after all.”

Pam blushes, stumbling over her reply.  “That was just, you know, I just...”

Harley laughes, squeezing back on their joined hands.  “I know.  And seriously, thank you.  I needed it.”

The two of them ordered, then sat back in their chairs, or at least as far back as their still linked hands would let them, chatting aimlessly about nothing at all, the only important thing being each other.  When the food arrived, Pamela insisted that Harley share, and took great delight in watching her date nervously bring the food to her waiting mouth.  She never broke eye contact as she bit down on the food, and laughed as Harley audibly gulped.  The rest of their meal passed in largely the same way, Pam teasing Harley and being generally amused at the poor girl’s reaction.

Eventually, though, all things must come to an end, and that included their date.  Harley skipped out of the restaurant, giddy as could be, when she felt a tug on her wrist, pulling her back to Pamela.  The taller girl wrapped her arms around her, and Harley nuzzled into the crook of her neck, enjoying her warmth and the scent of her perfume.  Pam tipped her head up, looking deeply into her eyes.

“Harley?”

“Yeah, Red?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Okay.”

And then, as, Harley felt Pam’s lips on her own, red lipstick clashing with black, she knew that she had been right that first day they met, it really did feel amazing to kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to write kissing. Like, I don't really understand why people enjoy it, or how it's supposed to feel. Just in case you were wondering why I don't really describe the kiss.
> 
> Batman and all associated properties belong to DC Comics. I own nothing.


	6. Have You Heard the Word?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A b-b-b-b-b-bird, bird, bird, a bird is the word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not about Penguin. More literal.

It’s October, and if there’s one thing college students, it’s Halloween.  From the first of October, various spooky, scary skeletons have been appearing around campus, and everyone was getting into the spirit of the season.  So, when she saw a large, black bird perched on one of the wings of Crane’s high-back reading chair, she thinks little of it.

At least, she did, until it swiveled its head to face her, croaking out a single syllable, “Fear.”

And Harley, being a reasonable woman, who had seen enough horror movies to know where this was going, booked it out of the apartment building at a rate that few would have believed her capable of.

* * *

When she called Crane to give him fair warning that their room was haunted, he just chuckled and reassured her that it was perfectly safe to come home.  So, Harley came back, but not before nicking a salt shaker from one of the cafes, ‘cause, like, ghosts were afraid a salt or somethin’ like that, right?

As she edged around the door, eyes peeking out from the frame, Harley noticed that Crane was now sitting in the reading chair, and that damn bird was perched on his shoulder, and was he reading to it?  “Hey, Crane,” she called cautiously.  “Why do you have a talking crow?”

Both Crane and the bird turned to look at her, and she noticed that they had eerily similar grey eyes.  He reached up, stroking the crow.  “You say that like it’s weird.”

Harley stares at him like he just answered himself.  “It talks, Crane.”  The strain in her voice is apparent to them both.

Crane nods.  “They do that.”

“What?”

“Crows,” he replies, patiently.  “They talk.  Like parrots.  Except they can actually learn proper word association, rather than random repetition of learned sounds.”  Harley nods along to his explanation, filing away the new information.  “What did she say?”

Harley bites the inside of her cheek.  “Fear,” she eventually bites out.

Crane beams, turning to the crow.  “Aww, good girl.  You introduced yourself to Aunt Harley, huh?  Such a clever girl.”

Harley gapes at the way that he was acting toward the crow, then his words set in.  “You did not name the crow Fear,” she says indignantly. 

Crane chuckles.  “Of course I did, it’s a perfectly good name for such a pretty girl.”

Harley shakes her head, bewildered by Crane’s naming sense.  “Ya still didn’t say why, ya know?”

Crane reaches a hand up to the bird, who hops onto it obligingly.  He rotates his wrist to show off Fear’s left side, where her wing was bound to her body by medical tape.  The feathers around it were ruffled, some even appearing to be torn.  “You know how last week we were sitting around the apartment, and you said it always felt too quiet here, and then you said we should get a puppy?”

Harley frowns.  “I’m pretty sure I said I wanted to get a baby hyena.”

Crane waves away her interjection.  “Details.  But, I thought to myself that maybe it wasn’t the worst idea, so I went to the shelter.  And, really, I only meant to look at the dogs, but then I saw her, and I used to own crows-”

“You used to own crows?”

“Yeah.  But anyway, it’s just...that’s not a natural injury, Harley.  Someone did that to her.  Someone she trusted.  Someone who was supposed to love her,” his voice broke, and Harley could swear she heard him force back a sob, “ who was supposed to protect her from harm.  And I couldn’t...I just couldn’t leave her, and I-” he cut himself off as he felt Harley place a hand on his shoulder.

She smiled at him, and her other hand slowly stroked Fear’s head.  “Shh...it’s okay.  She’s perfect.”

_The floorboards creaked as he climbed the spiral staircase to the rookery.  As he opened the trap door, he could feel the multitude of eyes upon him, and it was nice, because there was nothing cutting in their gazes, nothing that made him want to curl up in a ball, only mild interest.  They called his name, “Crane, Crane, Crane.”  He never taught them the other name, the one she said with such venom, his father’s name.  He refilled the depleted food trays, cleaned the perches.  Some of them came to rest on Crane.  A particularly fat one, who Crane called Gluttony, landed on his head.  He didn’t mind.  Sometimes they leave marks, little scratches where they gripped too zealously with their talons, cuts where they nip playfully at his fingers, but he doesn’t mind, because there is no_ intent _to those wounds, only unavoidable consequences of being.  Crane sits, leaning against the wooden walls, and plays with them, calling each by name.  And if he cried, surrounded by black feathers and clear, bright eyes, well, no one would hear his sobs, drowned by the harsh shrieks of his companions._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crows, like Cranes, are good birbs, and deserve tiny birb hugs.


	7. (All Hallow's Eve) Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's shopping time. Also, Crane and Pam actually have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All college students love Halloween. Fact.

“Whaddya mean you’ve never dressed up for Halloween?”  They were in their usual cafe, and Harley was struggling to comprehend the words that had just come from Crane’s mouth.

“Never,” Fear croaked, from its perch on the booth.  The crow rarely strayed far from Crane these days, even in public.  People had complained, at the beginning, but Fear was clever and well-behaved, and it didn’t take long before the whole campus was enamored of Crane’s little shadow.

“Quite so,” Crane said, feeding Fear a few kernels of corn.

“But, why?  How?”

“My _grandmother_ never approved of such things, and by the time I was living alone...it just seemed kind of, I don’t know, childish?”

Harley wanted to ask about the grandmother thing, it was the first time he had mentioned her, but his tone made it clear that that was a touchy subject.  So, instead, she focused on the main point.  “But, what were you planning on wearing to the party?”  This being a Halloween party put on by the Frieses.  Crane started to point at his current outfit, but his hand had barely started moving before Harley was shaking her head vehemently.  “Nope, not happening.  You _will_ wear a costume.  But, if you don’t have one...” her eyes lit up, “then we’ve gotta go _shopping!_ ”

Fear looked up, cocking her head.  “Shopping?”

Crane glared at her.  “Traitor,” he hissed, then stroked her head so that she knew he wasn’t actually mad.  He turned back to Harley.  “Fine.”

“Yay!” Harley cheered, whipping out her phone.  She opened it, but then hesitated, looking at Crane.  “Is it okay if I invite Pam?”

Crane chuckled, then nodded with a soft smile.  As much as he enjoyed Harley’s company, it would be a relief to have someone around to deflect his roommate’s enthusiasm.

Harley grinned back, then called her girlfriend.  “Heya, Red!”  She paused, listening to Pam’s response.  “So, I was talking to Crane, and he said he’s never dressed up for Halloween-What do you mean you haven’t, either?  I was gonna ask if you wanted to come look at costumes with us, but now I’m not giving you a choice.  So, come Thursday, get ready, ‘cause we’re goin’ shopping!”

* * *

Thursday came, and Crane was leaning against the exterior wall of one of those seasonal, specialty costume stores as Harley dragged her girlfriend toward him.  Said girlfriend was looking resolutely bored, though she couldn’t stop herself from cracking a small smile whenever Harley looked away.

Harley skipped to a stop between them, gesturing widely at both of them.  “Pammy, this is Jonathan Crane; Crane, I present the lovely Pamela Isley.”

Crane saw that Pam blushed slightly at the casual compliment and snickered.  He held out a hand.  “Call me Crane.”

Pam shook his hand firmly.  “Pamela.”

Introductions over, Harley pushed them inside, or rather, they humored her attempts to push them and walked through the doors of their own accord.  Harley bounced around them energetically, as the other two strolled casually through the aisles, and Crane could not help but be reminded of an overly excited puppy, waiting impatiently to be allowed off the leash.

It was Pam who first took pity on the girl.  “Love, would you find us some options you like?”  And Harley was off, dashing through the store, bounding from one rack to another.  Pam laughed, then looked over at Crane.  “So, where’s your daughter?”

Crane stared at her in bewilderment.  “My what?”

Pam laughed again.  “Sorry, that’s what Harley calls her.  Your crow.”

“Oh,” Crane let out a sigh of relief.  “Nygma’s looking after her.”

Pam raised an eyebrow.  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“What do you mean?  Nygma’s trustworthy.”

“Maybe, but won’t he try to teach her riddles.”

Crane’s mouth hangs open as he processes this possibility.  “I may have made a terrible decision.”

Pamela chuckles, patting him on the back reassuringly.  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Really?”

“No, not really.”

Harley comes skipping back, a large pile of costumes in her arms, and directs them to the fitting rooms.  She separates the pile into two stacks, or should I say, one stack and one single costume.

Crane raised an eyebrow, seeing the one costume she had chosen for him.  “Wow, Harley, really feeling the love.”

She frowned, then saw what he was referring two.  “I didn’t mean it like that,” she replied apologetically.  “I just thought that that one would be perfect.”

Crane picked up the costume, wondering what exactly Harley thought was the “perfect” costume.  Unfolding it, he saw that it was the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz.  He chuckled at that, it was indeed a fitting outfit.  The mask that went with it began to fall, and he caught it, fingers gripping tightly to the burlap.

Pam was watching Harley excitedly show off the outfits she had picked out for her, when she saw Crane freeze.  His eyes were fixated and distant, his hand clutched the mask with white knuckles.  Returning her gaze to Harley, she stepped forward, cupping the other girl’s cheek.  “Love, they are all fascinating, but I’m sure Crane would like some more options, too, so perhaps you should go look for some more.”

Harley frowned, clearly unhappy at being interrupted, but lit up at the possibility of more shopping, racing off again at break-neck speed.  When she looked over, Crane was back, the costume lying in a heap on the ground. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Crane looked at her nervously.  “I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

Pam said nothing, only stared back at him.

Sighing, he sat down on a nearby bench and ran a hand through his hair.  “Did she see?”

Pam shook her head, sitting down next to him.  They sat for a while in silence, staring forward.

“You’re not going to ask?” he inquired, eventually.

Pam shook her head again.  “Our scars are own.  We choose who we share them with.”

The use of “we” was not lost on Crane.  “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Harley came back in a few minutes, her infectious enthusiasm dispelling the gloom that had settled over them.  They tried on many costumes, and eventually, when they had chosen their outfits, they paid for them and parted ways, promising to meet tomorrow for the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I was going to tell you what they got? Jokes on you, I've got to keep something back for the next chapter.


	8. The Phantom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Frieses' Halloween Party. No plot, just friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: "I Kissed a Girl" Katy Perry; "Let It Go" Idina Menzel; "Edelweiss"; "I Gave My Love a Cherry"; "Red is the Rose"; and "The Music of the Night"

Harley pulled the ties of her corset together, made sure her crown was on straight, and stepped back to look in the mirror.  She was wearing a poofy Victorian dress, replete with red hearts, and held a red and gold scepter.  She spun around, then made her way into the common room.  Pam was sitting on the couch, already dressed.  Her skin was covered in green, and she was currently applying Harley’s black lipstick to match her robes and pointy, oversized hat.

Harley twirled her scepter.  “Off with their heads,” she commanded no one in particular.

Pam smiled, getting up to meet her girlfriend half-way.  “Well, I know who not to give power to,” she said, jokingly.

Harley grinned back.  “You know, Red, I think that skin color suits you.”

Pam laughed.  “Is that so?”

“Yep.”  She paused, a serious expression coming over her face.  “Or maybe you just look good in anything.”

Pam blushed.  It wasn’t often that Harley turned the tables on her, but it always got to her when she did.  They came closer, lips only inches apart.  Just before their lips could meet, however, a polite cough reminded them that there was someone else in the room.

Crane stood in the corner, wearing a black tuxedo with coat-tails.  His hair was slicked back, and on his face was a white mask that covered the right side of his face.  “As cute as this is, we do have a party to get to.”

Harley pouted, but obligingly stepped back, before heading towards the door.  “Everybody ready?”  The other two nodded, and the three of them began the trek to the Frieses house.

* * *

It was Victor who opened the door, dressed in a parka, with thick goggles over his eyes.  He smiled at the trio, welcoming them inside, before passing them off to Nora.  Nora, for her part, was dressed in leathers, with a white wig and contacts of the same color.  “Hey!” she said, hugging the girls and lightly patting Crane on the arm.  “It’s a bit of a smaller party this time, so everyone’s in the living room.”  This small gathering had been the result of realizing that, with the exception of Harley, none of them really liked crowds.

Needing no further direction, the three of them made their way to the living room.  The only other one there was Nygma, who was wearing a green tweed overcoat and deer-stalker hat.  (That’s what the Sherlock Holmes hats are called, fyi)  Crane was mildly impressed, because he had no idea where Nygma would even find green tweed.  Crane sat down in a chair opposite Nygma, and the girls took a couch, sitting practically on top of each other.  In a few minutes, there was a knock on the door, and Victor brought Dent in, his face painted in black and white, each side of his face an inversion of the other, and wearing a black and white jester costume.

“Looks like that’s everyone,” Victor commented, joining his wife on the other side of the couch from Pam and Harley.

Harley turned a questioning gaze on Harvey.  “What are you supposed to be?”

Harvey smiled with the right half of his face, his left half frowning, and posed dramatically.  “Isn’t it obvious?  I am comedy and tragedy.”

Everyone chuckled at that, Victor calling out, “NERD!”

“What surprises me, though,” Harvey said, “is Crane.”

“Oh?” came the chorus of inquisition.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen this party-pooper dressed up.”

Harley gasped dramatically, “So it’s true!”

Crane just sighed and replied with a rude hand gesture.

“Oooo, I think the Phantom is angry,” Harvey said, teasingly.

“Oh, don’t even get me started,” Crane replied.  “How many times did you make us watch this damn movie?”

Harvey smirked, his right side looking particularly smug.  “I don’t know, how many times did you sing along?”

Crane studiously avoided looking at any of the others, looking at the wall.  “Anyway, what’s, uh...what’s the plan for this whole, shindig.”

It was an obvious distraction tactic, but everyone else was curious, too, so they all turned to look at the Frieses.

Nora beamed.  “I am so glad you asked.”  She bounced up out of her husband’s embrace, making her way over to the TV mounted on the wall.  Crane noted that she had a tablet hooked up, and felt a creeping suspicion that that was definitely bad news.  That feeling was confirmed when she smiled directly at him, turning on the system.  “Speaking of singing along, it’s karaoke time!”

The reaction was, well, less than enthusiastic.  With the exception of Harley, of course, who squealed in absolute delight.  She jumped up to join her friend, lifting the smaller girl and spinning her around.  She scrolled through the options, grinning happily.

Crane turned, looking over towards Harvey.  “Harley says you and Gilda finally got together.”

Harvey nodded.  “We did.”

“It’s good?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“You should have brought her.”

Harvey sighed.  “I would’ve.  It’s just...holidays aren’t exactly a good time for her.”

Crane could see the sadness in his friend’s eyes, and squeezed his shoulder.  He opened his mouth to say something, but another excited squeal drew their attention to the front.  Harley had evidently found something she liked, because a thumping base line began pouring out of the speakers, and even though Crane didn’t care for pop music, it was impossible not to recognize.

Harley held up a hair brush that Nora had apparently decided to use as a mic, and winked flirtatiously at Pam.

_This was never the way I planned,_

_Not my intention..._

Harley’s rendition of Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” was, objectively, horrendous.  She was constantly off key, she had no sense of tempo or rhythm, and kept making up lyrics, in spite of the fact that the real lyrics were right in front of her.  And in spite of all that, they cheered.  They cheered because it was silly, and fun, and it took the pressure off of them because no matter how badly they sang, they couldn’t sing _that_ badly.  Harley skipped merrily back to her girlfriend, who rewarded her warm, though chaste, kiss.

Nora decided to go next.  She did a passable rendition of “Let It Go,” from Frozen.  She had a nice, clear voice, and even though she didn’t have the full range to hit all the notes, she made up for it by dancing along to the music, throwing around tiny, plastic snowflakes at appropriate intervals.

As everyone clapped, she dragged Victor up to go next.  Everyone chuckled at the distinctly uncomfortable look on his face, but cheered him on anyway.  He flicked through the songs, smiling softly when he found one he liked.

_Edelweiss, Edelweiss,_

_Every morning you greet me,_

_Small and white,_

_Clean and bright..._

It was a beautiful song, and Victor’s strong voice carried it well, to great praise.

Crane grinned at him as he returned to his seat.  “You’ve been holding out on us.”

Victor scratched the back of his head, laughing in embarrassment.  “It’s nothing that great.”

Next was Nygma, who sang a strange folk song called “I Gave My Love a Cherry” which was essentially a series of riddles.  Ed’s singing wasn’t very impressive, but it was an entertaining song, so everyone was happy enough.

Pamela volunteered to go next.  She had taken off her hat at some point, and her red locks tumbled over her shoulders.  When she found her song, she looked directly into Harley’s eyes, never breaking eye contact.

_Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows,_

_Fair is the lily of the valley,_

_Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne_

_But my love is fairer than any._

Pamela’s voice was rich, and full, and wrapped around the words like a loving embrace.  Harley didn’t fail to notice the Irish accent that Pam adopted as she sang, and it was honestly really, really hot.  As she returned to the couch, Harley wrapped herself around Pam like a particularly clingy sloth.

Harvey went next, singing an impressive duet of Ebony and Ivory, modulating his voice to do both parts.  Then, finally, it was Crane’s turn.  He got up, nervously.  He wasn’t a huge fan of singing in front of others, but seeing everyone else do it gave him courage.  He went to the ipad to pick a song, only to see that someone, _Harvey_ , had already queued up a song for him.  Seeing what it was, he rolled his eyes, but it was Halloween, and he was already wearing the suit for it, so why not.

_Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation,_

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination,_

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses._

If Pamela’s song was captivating, Crane’s was ensnaring, drawing them in with sinister beauty.  Crane lost himself entirely within the music, never even looking at the lyrics.  There was loneliness, and sorrow, in his voice, a rawness and expressiveness that they had never seen from him.  There was no applause as his song reached its conclusion, only enraptured silence, jaws hanging open in shock.  He was already back in his seat before anyone had recovered from their shock sufficiently to congratulate him on his performance.

* * *

Finished with that, they decided to move on to move on.  Harley suggested they play “Never Have I Ever” and it was quickly agreed to, though Pam, Ed, and Crane abstained from the drinking portion of the game.  It was almost embarrassing how easily Crane won.  He simply had to subtly direct steer the game towards R-rated topics and then sit back and watch as they dug themselves deeper and deeper into a hole.  He still had eight fingers by the time everyone else was out, and they all agreed that playing this game against him was probably not the best idea.

* * *

From there they moved on to Truth or Dare, with the stipulation that the players were permitted to refuse anything that was too uncomfortable, because emotional manipulation is really not okay.

“Okay, Crane,” Harley was saying, “Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” because no one trusted Harley with a dare.

“When you ‘n’ Harvey was datin’,” she said, her voice sinisterly innocent, “which of you was the top?”

Crane choked on his lemonade, coughing as he tried to breathe.  “Well,” he said, finally “I never really thought about it.  We never really, you know, did anything to warrant figuring it out, you know?”

Everyone laughed at that.  Then Harvey put in his two cents.  “I always imagined it would be you.”  The group went silent, turning to him, questions written on their faces.  He sighed.  “You are very...” he fumbled for an appropriate descriptor, “exacting.  You need to be in control.  I can’t imagine you ever being okay with someone else taking charge.”  He paused for effect.  “Also, you are like, way taller than me.”  This got another chuckle from everyone.  Harvey turned towards Harley.  “Since you asked, I think it’s fair that you answer, too.  Which of you two is the top.”

“Pam,” everyone else replied in unison, when Harley hesitated, causing Harley to blush furiously.

“Hey,” she snapped, indignantly, “I could be top.”

Pam laughed, holding her girl tightly.  “Love, even Eddy can tell that that’s just not true.”

Harley buried her head in Pam’s shoulder.  “Y’all’re a bunch a meanies.”

Everyone just laughed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, being Asexual, Aromantic, or especially both, is really useful when playing Never Have I Ever.
> 
> Okay, let's do this. Batman and all affiliated properties are the property of DC Comics. Captain Cold and Killer Frost are also property of DC Comics. Alice in Wonderland, Sherlock Holmes, and The Wizard of Oz are matters of public domain and belong to no one. The Phantom of the Opera is property of Andrew Lloyd Webber. I claim nothing.


	9. Mania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane goes to his day job and receives an unexpected visitor.  
> Or, Joker is a petty criminal, and Crane don't give a fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been planning this one for a while now, really glad I finally got to it.

Early in the semester, Crane had taken an internship at one of the University sponsored therapy clinics, for practical experience purposes.  He had met some very _interesting_ people in his time there, and had some rather strange experiences.  None of them, though, were quite as interesting as the sight that awaited him a week after Halloween, as he went to open up the office.  He often came a few hours before everyone else, to get his things in order and prepare for the day, so his bosses had entrusted him with a set of keys.

That’s why, when he arrived, he found it very strange that the door was already unlocked.  He tensed, then eased the door open.  Whatever he had been expecting, a man in a clown mask ransacking the place was not it.  The door creaked, and the man in the mask spun around, drawing a switchblade from his coat as he did so.  Now, there are a lot of reactions one can have to a man drawing a knife on you, but Crane, Crane laughed.  Not a nervous laugh, but simple, genuine amusement.  And that amusement deeply confused the thief.

“What’s so funny?” the man asked, voice reedy and high pitched.

Crane’s laughter petered out, as he composed himself.  “Sorry, sorry, it’s not you, it’s just...I didn’t know anyone even used switchblades anymore.”

It was hard to tell because of the mask, but the other man seemed to convey a sense of affront.  “What?  The switchblade is a perfectly good knife.”

Crane shrugged.  “Sure, it’s a good design,” he said, turning away from the other man and pouring himself a drink from the office’s watercooler, “but isn’t it a bit _West Side Story_.”

The thief laughed at that, then shook his head when Crane offered him a cup of water, as well.  “I don’t really think that’s something people think about when they buy knives.”

“Really?  I would.  Like, what is the image people get when they see my knives.”

“I’m pretty sure their supposed to get the image that their life is over.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, though.  I saw your switchblade, but instead of fear for my life, I got _West Side Story_.”

The thief cocked his head, considering what Crane had said.  Then, cautiously, still keeping an eye on Crane, he went back to tossing the office.

“You know, we don’t keep anything valuable here.”

The masked man turned more fully towards Crane.  “If you did keep valuables here, wouldn’t you say the same thing?”

Crane smirked.  “I cannot say that I disagree with that logic.”  He crossed the room, and began picking up the things the thief had disturbed.  They were silent, for a time, the thief throwing things about and Crane putting them back.  It was Crane who eventually broke the silence.  “What do you fear?”

Wild, green eyes met cold, gray ones.  “What do you mean?”  He saw that Crane was holding out a hand for the files that he had just finished rifling through, so he passed them to him.

Crane placed the files back on the proper shelf.  “It is my belief that nothing tells us as much about a person as their fears.  So, I ask again, what do you fear?”

“I don’t know, bats, maybe.”

Crane shook his head.  “Bats might make you uncomfortable, but that’s not what I mean.  I mean the things you truly fear.  The things that haunt you.  The things that keep you up at night, twisting and turning at the mere thought.”

The thief sat down in one of the therapists’ chair, apparently bored of his fruitless search for valuables.  Crane sprawled out on the opposite couch, looking up at the ceiling.  Eventually the voice of the thief broke the silence.  “Being forgotten.”

Crane looked over at the other man, who was hunched up in his seat, legs drawn up.  “Tell me about that,” he coaxed gently.

The thief gesticulated with his knife, absently.  “It’s like, I’ve never done anything particularly impressive, you know.”

Crane nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“Sometimes, I just think, like, when I’m gone, who’s gonna remember plain old Jacky Napier?”  The thief, Jack, froze, realizing that he had just said his name.  Crane just waved it away, motioning for him to continue.  “Like, what impact am I really going to have on the world?”

Crane nodded, before interjecting.  “That’s a reasonable fear, and it’s one that most people struggle with.  But,” he cautioned, “I think you may put too much stock in how other people view you.  You should think more about what it is that you, as an individual, desire?”

“How so?”

Crane thought about it, before coming to a conclusion.  “What was your dream job, as a kid?”

Jack scratched the back of his head, nervously.  “Oh, man don’t bring that up.  It’s embarrassing.”

Crane chuckled.  “You are quite literally in the middle of robbing me, I don’t think it can get much worse.”

Jack sighed.  “It’s just, I always wanted to make people laugh.”

“Like a comedian?”

“Like...like a clown.”  He looked up, and saw that Crane had raised an eyebrow.  “But that’s like, just a stupid kid’s dream, not like I ever really pursued it.  I mean, come on, everybody’s gotta grow up sometime.”

Crane shook his head.  “I don’t care for the way that everyone makes out that growing up means you have to be serious all the time.  As I see it, being an adult means that now we can be silly whenever we choose, and no one can tell us to grow up, because we already did.”

Jack laughed at that, smiling with his eyes.  “I like the way you think, doc.”

Crane inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.  “There are enough tears in this world, Jack,” he said, standing up with a stretch.  He turned to head into the bathroom. “I think we could really use just a bit more laughter.”

By the time he returned, Jack was gone, and Crane returned to preparing for the day.

* * *

It was two weeks later that he came in to find the door unlocked once more, and a bright red clown nose sitting on his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Batman and all associated properties are owned by DC Comics.


	10. Scars, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley and Pam bird-sit. The story of Pam's childhood comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I really planned for this to be mostly fluff, with a hint of angst, but the angst hit hard. Sorry.

It was near the end of November, and Harley was reading to Fear, when her phone beeped with a message.  Fear cocked her head at the sudden noise, and Harley picked the device up from the side table.

_Red: Want to get lunch?_

_Love: Sorry cant. Im Fear-sitting._

_Red: What’s Crane doing that he left her behind?_

_Love: Dunno. Crane stuff._

_Red: Well, if you can’t come out, then how about I come to you?_

_Love: U dont have to.  Its okay._

_Red: It’s not a question of having to or not.  Would you like for me to?_

_Love: Yes_

_Red: Then I shall._

_Red: And love, do try to improve your grammar, just a little.  I am not dating a child, my message history shouldn’t look like I am._

Harley smiled, knowing that her girlfriend was just teasing her.  And hey, at least she wasn’t as bad to Crane, who replied to the overwhelming majority of texts with a singular “K.”

* * *

 

It took about twenty minutes for Pam to arrive, carrying sandwiches from the local deli.  She passed Harley’s sandwiches to her, then put her own food on the counter, retrieving a small round container.  Harley looked up curiously, which made Pam smirk.  She removed the lid, revealing that it was full of pistachios, and placed the container near Fear.

“Nuts” the crow commented.  She flapped up to the bookshelf, where she had stashed a small, sharp rock, and brought the rock down to work on cracking open the aforementioned nuts.

Harley laughed, shaking her head.  “You’re spoiling her.”

Pam smiled, tapping her leg against Harley’s as they sat at the table.  “I have been known to go overboard when it comes to beautiful girls.”

Harley snickered, leaning over to kiss her girlfriend.  “Tryna make me jealous, Red.”

Pam laced their fingers together, and though her tone remained light, there was a certain firmness to her words as she replied, “Never.”

Fear looked up from her pistachios.  “Nevermore?”

Pam looked back and forth between Harley and Fear, expression surprised.  “Tell me he didn’t.”

Harley giggled.  “Well, Crane may or may not have read some Poe to her.  Multiple times.  Every night.”

Pam face-palmed dramatically.  “He is such a weirdo.”

“Oh, come, on, at least she’s not actually a raven.”

“Barely.”

Harley giggled again, leaning into her girlfriend.  “Thanks.”

Pam raised an eyebrow.  “What for?”

“For coming.  It means a lot.”

Pam used her free hand to gently stroke Harley’s hair.  “Always.”

Just as she was going in for another kiss, Fear flapped over, landing on their joined shoulders.

“Bwah,” exclaimed Pam, jerking backward instinctively, causing Fear to lose her balance before flapping over to land on Harley’s knee, glaring at Pam.

Harley, it should be said, was doubled over with laughter, shaking with mirth.

“What’s so funny,” Pam inquired, miffed.

Harley gasped for breath, trying to compose herself.  “Nothing, nothing...It’s just, you’re always so smooth.  And you just, you just, ‘Bwah!’”

Pam smiled gently, figuring that being a little embarrassed was worth it to see Harley so amused, unaware of how her thoughts mirrored Harley’s went they had just started getting to know each other.

“You know,” Harley said, when her giggles had fully subsided, “with the way you treat your plants, and how you’re spoiling _someone else’s_ pet, I can only imagine how spoiled your kids will be.”  She paused, waiting for some snarky quip about how it was a little early to talk about that, but was met with silence.  She looked over, and saw Pam looking at their joined hands, an inscrutable expression on her face.  “Red,” she called, hesitantly, receiving no response.  “Pam.”

Pam realized that she was being called and looked up, meeting Harley’s eyes.  “What was that, love?”

Harley frowned, and placed her forehead against Pam’s.  “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” she replied, too quickly.  She could tell from Harley’s expression that she wasn’t buying it, and Pam sighed.  “I just, I never really thought about kids.  My...my parents weren’t exactly a great example to go off of.”  She felt Harley squeeze her hand, reassuringly.  Her gaze was soft, but attentive, inviting her to continue, but not pushing.  Knowing that it was going to be a long story, she led Harley over to the couch, sitting down together.  “I was never allowed out of the house.  Not in the normal, overprotective parent kind of way, but literally.  My mom, she’d been a teacher so I was homeschooled through middle school.  The windows would only open enough to fit a hand through, nothing more, and the doors were always locked.  The only one with a key was father.”  Pam paused, drawing herself inward, and found Harley’s arms wrapping around her body.

“He never hit me, but mom was a different story.  If she said something that made him angry, he hit her; if _I_ said something that made him angry, he hit her; if he came home drunk, he hit her.  And then he’d buy her flowers, and she’d forgive him, like it was normal.”  She shook her head. 

“It’s kind of messed up, but that’s what made me interested in botany.  Whenever things got too messed up, whenever I couldn’t deal, I went to the garden and tended the plants.  It was the only thing in my life that I felt like I could control.”  She suddenly shifted topics, reflecting her disorganized thoughts, “I never understood why father was so paranoid about us going outside.”  She paused, and felt Harley squeeze her gently again. 

“I was thirteen when everything changed.  The thing about momentous days is that they usually start out pretty normal.  It was a Tuesday, and we were in the middle of a lesson, when there was a knock on the door.  We didn’t answer, of course.  We never answered the door.  But then the knock was replaced with a slam, and the door broke open.  I was terrified, of course, not knowing who these people were, not to mention that they were carrying guns and shouting.  Mom just grabbed me and pulled me to the ground, not making a sound.  I forgot about my fear, though, when they took us, because I was too busy taking in the world that I had been denied for so long.  I didn’t understand what was going on until I saw the lights.  Red and blue flashing lights.”

The pause that followed was the longest by far.  “The man who I called father was no such thing.  He was...he was my abductor.  He kidnapped us when I was a baby, forced us to live in this cabin, away from civilization, for thirteen years.  I’m still not sure how they found us, we’d been declared dead years before, but they did.”  She leaned back against Harley, cognizant now of the silent tears dripping into her hair.  “After that, it was just us, and eventually, with a lot of help, things got better.”  She turned, cupping Harley’s cheek.  “I’m sorry I just dumped that on you.  I just thought that it was important that you know.”

Harley shook her head, covering Pam’s hand with her own.  “Don’t apologize.  I’m glad.  Not glad that that happened, never that.  But I’m glad you told me.”

Pam smiled, softly.  “I love you.”

Harley smiled back.  “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Batman and all associated properties belong to DC Comics.


	11. Scars, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the end of the semester, Crane returns to the place he once called home to confront the ghosts of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such angst, much feels.

Crane stepped out of his last final with a small sigh, shoulders slumping.  Not out of concern for his grades, the tests were, as always, almost pitifully easy.  No, his concern came from what came now.  Somehow, Harvey had convinced him to come back to their hometown with him, the town Crane hadn’t been to in five years.  He had given his bags to Harvey before he left this morning, now he just had to wait for the car to arrive.  And there it was, pulling around the corner.  A relatively high-end SUV, sleek and shiny.  Crane supposed such things were to be expected, when you come from a family of successful lawyers.  Crane waited for the vehicle to stop next to him, before sliding into the passenger seat.

As soon as he did, he felt a hand land on his shoulder from behind, causing him to spin around.  The sight that greeted him only brought greater confusion.  “Harley?  Pamela?  What are you doing here?”

The aforementioned couple was cuddled up in the back seat, bundled up in winter clothes, and Fear was perched on Pam’s shoulder.  Harley grinned, while Pam at least had the decency to look apologetic.  It was Pam who answered, at last.  “Harvey told us that you haven’t been home in a long time, so you could probably use some friendly faces around.”

Crane shot a glare at Harvey, who was driving.  “That wasn’t your call to make.”  His voice was stern, but it did not go unnoticed that some of the tension in his body relaxed at the thought.

“We both know you’d never ask,” Harvey replied, not incorrectly.  “It’s just not your way.”

Crane huffed, then stared out the window, but they could see a small smile reflected in the window.

* * *

It took them two hours to reach Harvey’s house, in a small town on the edge of suburban and rural.  The house was nice, but modest; two stories with two bathrooms and three bedrooms.  It was nearing dusk when they arrived, and when Harvey opened the door, they were treated to the smell of freshly cooked dinner.

Harvey’s mom bustled into the foyer, shucking a cooking apron as she went.  She immediately hugged Harvey, then turned to address the others.  “Hello, hello, you must be Harvey’s friends.”  She turned to Pamela and Harley, pulling them both into a hug.  Then she turned to Crane, eyes widening.  “Oh my stars, is that you, Crane?”  When he nodded, she wrapped her arms around the tall man’s waist in a crushing bear hug, more fervent than even her greeting for her son.  “It’s been far, far too long.”  Then she noticed the crow on his shoulder.  “Oh, who’s this?”

“Fear,” Fear supplied, helpfully.

“What she said,” Crane added.

“Oh, what a smart girl,” she said, dotingly.  She turned once more, to address the group.  “Well, dinner will be ready soon, so why don’t you go get settled in.”  She pointed at the boys.  “You two can stay in Harvey’s room, which means the girls should stay in Crane’s old room.”  Harley and Pam both showed looks of surprise about this casually dropped information, and Harley almost said something, but a squeeze of the hand from Pam stopped her.  “Would you mind showing the way, Crane?”

“Of course not, Mrs. Dent.”  He turned to the girls.  “This way.”  Together, the three of them walked silently upstairs, then stopped in front of one of the doors.  Pulling the door open, he stepped back, so that they could precede him into the room.  It was bare, utilitarian, having been empty for a long time.

Crane looked over, noticing the mirror on the wall.  _Blood dripped down his knuckles, shards of glass embedded in the flesh.  A web of cracks radiated out from the point of impact, covering the surface of the mirror.  Footsteps thudded up the stairs, obviously alerted by the sound of shattering.  Warm, maternal eyes roved over the scene with concern, taking in the shattered mirror before moving to look at Crane, where he sat on the bed, frustrated tears rolling down his face.  Mrs. Dent sat down beside him, slowly taking his hand in her own, silently wrapping his injured knuckles._ “Guess they replaced it.”

“What was that?” Harley asked, looking up.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head.

“Crane?” Harley inquired, hesitantly.

“Yeah, Harley?”

“Why do you have a room?”

Crane sighed, trailing his fingers over the furniture in a gesture of familiarity.  “I lived here for two years.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”  He straightened and turned, moving to the door.  “Unless you need anything else, I will see you at dinner.”

* * *

Harley could sense the tension when they came down to dinner, but it was quickly dispersed by Mrs. Dent’s friendly manner and open demeanor.  Mr. Dent, it seemed, had to stay overnight at the office, so it was just the five of them.  Mrs. Dent was only too happy to provide embarrassing stories about Harvey.  Crane ate quietly, enjoying the friendly atmosphere, sharing bits of food with Fear.  In the back of her mind, though, Harley could not dispel the unease surrounding this trip.  Even later that night, when she was in bed, Pam’s arms wrapped around her and her deep breathing indicative of sleep, she couldn’t stop wondering just what story was hidden behind those cold gray eyes.

* * *

In the morning they were awakened by Harvey knocking on their door.  Harley pulled the door open, blinking sleepily, and was about to ask what was so important that they had to be woken at six a.m., when she saw the grave expression on his face.

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”  Harley nodded, then went to wake up Pam.  When they were both dressed, they went out to meet Harvey, who was already in his SUV.  Harley noted that Crane was nowhere to be seen, but said nothing.

They drove in silence, until the tension overwhelmed Harley, and she blurted out, “Where are we going?”

Harvey’s grip on the wheel tightened.  “Crane’s house.”

Harley had no reply to that, so they continued on in silence.  They stopped at the edge of a large, overgrown field, which had once held crops.  Harvey motioned for them to get out of the car, telling them that they’d need to walk the rest of the way.

* * *

They found Crane at the top of small hill, seemingly unaffected by the biting December air, in spite of the fact that he was dressed in nothing more than his normal clothes.  He stood, unmoving, staring forward.  Following his gaze, Harley finally caught sight of Crane’s house.

Whatever she had imagined Crane’s home to look like, she was unprepared for this.  Rising from the encroaching greenery was a series of warped and twisted wooden beams, portions of floor, and the barest hint of what must have been a roof once upon a time. The rest of the building lay on the ground in a heap, all of it blackened by fire and smoke.  They were all struck dumb at the sight, even Harvey, who had seen it before.

It was Crane, surprisingly, who broke the silence.  “Whatever happened to Garfield?”

Harvey looked over at him.  “Lynns?  I think he works for the office of the fire marshal, if I remember correctly.”

Crane snorted.  “Ironic.  Though, I suppose experience helps in that sort of job.”  _His feet crunched through the fallen leaves.  The twenty-something was sitting on the hill, smoking a cigarette.  He held a silver lighter in one hand, scarred fingers tracing intricate filigree._

_“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” the man said, gruffly._

_“Is that so?” Crane replied evenly._

_Lynns shrugged.  “Not many that are willing to do it themselves.  That’s generally why they hire me.”_

_“Well, sometimes, it’s important to do things with your own hands.”_

_Lynns nodded.  “Makes sense to me.”_

_“I take it everything is set up.”_

_Another nod.  “Just waiting for ignition.”_

_Crane held out his hand, and Lynns handed over his cigarette.  Crane took it delicately, then walked down the hill to the house.  He looked deeply into the glowing butt, then tossed it through one of the windows.  He didn’t even wait to see if it caught, just turned and walked back to the hill.  Only when he had reached the hill did he look back, watching as the house filled with an orange glow, as the flames licked outward, spilling out of the windows.  Garfield turned to look at him, and could not help but be struck by the fact that not even the glow of flames could make those eyes look less cold._

“Let’s go,” he said, before walking towards the house.  The others scrambled after them, only Harvey unsurprised when he bypassed the house entirely, swinging around to the back.  There, almost hidden in the undergrowth, was a steel door.  Crane gripped the handle, and they saw, as he swung it open, that the metal was two inches thick.  The door led to a set of stairs, and he led the way down them, ducking so as not to hit the edge of the opening.  At the bottom of the stairs was a cellar, nearly a foot of standing water obscuring the floor.  Burned out holes in the floor above allowed light to filter down into the basement.  There were all the normal things one would expect to find in a basement; boiler, furnace, various pipes, but there were also some very unusual choices of decor.  For instance, there was a vertical wooden pole, sporting what looked like claw marks, a human-sized cross, with manacles dangling from the arms and base.  And most sinisterly, a table that held a nine-headed whip, various knives, and, disturbingly, a clothing iron.

Crane walked through the basement, fingers tracing tracks on the pole, feeling the edges of the cross, spinning a knife between his fingers.  Pam felt her leg bump into something, and looked down to see a half-rotten burlap mask floating on the surface of the water.  “My father,” Crane said, breaking the oppressive silence, “was named Jonathan.”  He slammed the knife down into the wood, burying it more than an inch into the table.  “I do not know his last name, nor anything else about him.  He abandoned us as soon as he learned about the pregnancy.  My mother,” another knife in the table, “lived just long enough after I was born to name me after him.  My grandmother,” another knife, “was a very religious woman.  She had an absolute sense of morality and propriety.  If anything upset that sense,” another knife, “she took it upon herself to correct that behavior.”

His hand moved to the collar of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.  He kept his back to them and allowed the garment to slip from his body, setting it on the table.  Neither girl was able to suppress the shocked gasps that escaped them at the sight.  His back was covered in countless raised lines, indicative of whip lashes.  Interspersed amongst the lines were patches of wrinkled, twisted tissue that made it all too clear what the purpose of the clothing iron was for.  His arms, too were covered in scars, these ones obviously knife wounds, and his wrist were covered in abrasive scars, where he had strained against his restraints.

“I was sixteen,” he said, eventually, “when Harvey and I started dating.”  He laughed humorlessly.  “The funny thing is, by the time she even found out about it, we’d already broken up.  Not that that mattered to her.  Of course, by then, I was bigger and stronger than her, so she drugged my dinner.”  He shuddered gripping his own elbows.  “When I woke up, I was down here, and this had been carved into my chest.”

On Crane’s chest, still clearly legible, was the word ABOMINATION.  Harley and Pam, who had been crying for some time, now, burst out in choked sobs.

“I was down here for three days.  Luckily, it had rained recently, so at least I had water.  It was Harvey who found me.”  He paused, a look of immeasurable gratitude pointed at Harvey.  “I’d been out of school, and he was worried that it was his fault, so he came to check up on me.”  He paused again, put his shirt back on.  “He found her first.  Bitch hadn’t made it five feet from the cellar before she had a fuckin’ heart attack.”  He led them out of the basement, blinking in the light of the newly risen sun.  “After that I went to live at the Dents’.  They sent me her ashes, so I dumped them on the floor of the living room, closed out the rookery, then burned the whole thing down around her.”

* * *

The rest of the trip back to Harvey’s house was silent, no one knowing what to say in light of this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry.
> 
> Batman and all affiliated properties are owned by DC Comics.

**Author's Note:**

> Batman, and all related properties are the property of DC Comics. I claim nothing.


End file.
